Potential Detective
by Autumnchronicles
Summary: A CC fanfic about a completely different person named Wallace Doyle who gets shrunk by the BO. Originally a high school mystery writer, he starts having to learn how to solve cases and is stuck living with friend Penelope and her slow detective father.
1. File 1: Preface

_A/N: Well, here it is. My latest fanfic. It's based of of Case Closed/Detective Conan, but I've tweaked it in several places. First off, it takes place in America. Second, the main character who's based off of Shinichi/Jimmy/Conan wasn't originally a detective at all. He was striving to be a mystery writer when he got shrunk, and then had to change that idea fast. Third, I renamed the people in the Black Organization. Actually, I renamed everybody, moved some characters around here, deleted some there, you get the idea. It's similar but not the same. Oh, yeah. And I'm going to put up lyrics before every chapter that fit what happens. I don't own the lyrics, the people who are after the lyrics and the dash own them. Or something like that. Okay, here's the preface._

**Potential Detective**

"_A never ending dream, a dream of you . . ."_

_-Cascada_

**File 1: Preface**

I stumble away. My clothes feel way too baggy. What did Artie do to the laundry this time? Man, why can't I run? I'm just out of it! My vision's going crazy, my senses are going crazy, my orientation's going crazy, my body's going crazy . . . What the heck's happening to me? I feel so . . . what's the word . . . small? Have I mentioned I'm crazy? And . . . tired . . . woah, I'm running as fast as I can and I'm hardly getting anywhere . . . are those my footprints in the snow? Why are they so tiny? And so close together? And what happened to my shoes? What's happening, period?

Panting, I lean against a dark office building. Everyone's gone for the holiday's, no doubt. There isn't even anybody on the street. It's just me. I manage to catch my breath somewhat, but I stay there so I can try to calm down. I glance up at the black glass to see how bad I look.

Big mistake.

I don't see me. At least, I don't see what I should look like.

Instead, I see what I used to look like when I was say . . . six years old!?

"AAAAAAGH!" I yell.

I scramble away from the window like it's a bomb ready to explode. Two steps down the sidewalk, I trip on my huge jeans and do a face plant in the snow. I lay there for about two seconds before I have the sudden impulse to get up. I make a dash for the nearest doorway and run inside. I never stop to wonder why it's unlocked. I never stop to wonder where my sudden impulse came from. But I don't have to.

Just as I'm out of the way, a fireball lights up the sleepy winter street. Right where I had been. Apparently, the building was rigged with a bomb after all. Stray embers drift around the street like hell's snow.

I stare at the scene for a moment, wide-eyed, before plowing right into someone. Someone's leg, actually, but whatever. Whoever this guy is, he's dressed completely in black. And he scares me.

"Finally caught you, Mr. Detective."

Wait. Just waaaaaait a minute. Detective? I am sure as heck not a detective! This guy's got his facts extremely messed up. Super extremely. Can't he see what I look like? I'm a little kid!

"Um . . . I think you're mistaking me with someone else," I laugh uneasily. Sheesh, even my voice is crazy and messed up. I sound like a mouse.

"No, there's no mistake, Wallace Doyle. Or Sammy Watson, as you like to call yourself."

"Wha . . . that's my pseudonym! How the hell do you know that? I can only begin to guess how you found out my real name, but that? Only me and a couple other people know about that name!"

"Not anymore. We know everything."

I suddenly feel like laughing. No idea why. "Okay, if you know everything, then what happened to me?"

"We tried to kill you, but you were lucky." The shady man says. His voice makes me shudder. I think up a comeback anyway.

"Well, that's obvious. I mean why–"

I don't get a chance to finish. The guy cuts me off mid-sentence.

"You won't get lucky again."

That sick guy never even answers my question. The man in black pulls out a gun with lighting fast reflexes and fires before I have the chance to react. The last thing I remember is a fiery pain in my chest. Then everything goes as black as that man's unfeeling heart.

_A/N: Yay, Wallie gets shot! Not really, but . . . never mind. XD I'll post the actual first chapter in a couple of hours. Maybe sooner if people like it. (Yeah, like anyone is gonna like a measly couple dozen lines) XD Well, until a few hours then?_

_-Autumnchronicles_


	2. File 2: Nightmares and Geometry

_A/N: Okay, this is more like the first chapter. I just didn't want the scrolly chapter bar thing to be messed up, so I just called the Preface 'File 1.' Well, this is where I introduce Wallie and Penny. They're so cute together, awwww . . . . um . . . I mean . . . *clears throat* never mind. This is the first time I've actually written from a guy's point of view, so it's sort of a big accomplishment for me. Actually, this is the first time I've written mystery, too. XD It's my first time for a lot of things, I guess. Anyhow, I'm just gonna apologize in advance if my girliness shines through in my writing. Oh yeah, and just a memo, this fic actually fits into the categories 'Mystery,' 'Sci-fi,' AND 'Romance.' The last thing I'm going to try and keep on a low, but I'll probably fail epicly anyway so oh well. I'm just dragging on now so I'm just going to let you read PD. (I love abbreviations!)_

"_How do you do the things that you do?"_

_-Cascada_

**File 2: Nightmares and Geometry**

I practically leap out of my seat when the bell rings. I glance around the room, half expecting some guy in a slick black suit to materialize from out of nowhere. Luckily, they only exists in my nightmares. I sit up and yawn. Geometry's so boring I sleep through it, even when I don't mean to. It's the only class I don't have an A+ in. But seriously, come on! Who does, besides the nerds? I'm still have trouble trying to figure out how to multiply two digit numbers by two digit numbers! And I'm pretty sure that was 5th grade!

"Wallie!"

At the sound of my name, I blink and try to gather up my blank notebooks and messy binders. Blearily, I make my way out of the torture-chamber and start to approach my friend. Now, before you laugh, I just want you to know this is perfectly normal for someone my age, and I'm NOT going out with this person! I mean, your best friend's gender doesn't matter in high school, right? Did it really matter when we were younger? I mean, so what if my best friend's a girl. Okay, I said it. Penelope Burlough and I have been best friends since preschool. _Strictly_ _friends._

"Coming," I drone back. I might not sound too enthusiastic about seeing my best friend, but I'm just plain tired. I didn't sleep at all last night, and that nap I took in Geo wasn't exactly rejuvenating. If anything, I feel even more drained from it. Must've been the running effect. Now, what was I doing all night, you ask? I was sitting in front of my computer till dawn, typing and racking my brain for ideas. I've been staying up late all week. In fact, the only time I've actually had time to rest is in Geo. Why am I doing this to myself? Because I'm trying desperately to finish my mystery novel. The plot's finally seeming to come together, and I'm into the final action scenes. Maybe that's why I keep getting gunned down in Geo . . .

"You really need to get a good night's rest tonight," Penelope scolds me. I grin sheepishly back. The usual.

"Good mysteries don't write themselves, you know."

"Even writers need their rest, Wallie. Your exam is tomorrow."

"Huh?" I blink uncomprehendingly. "Exam? Which exam?"

"Geometry."

I groan. Anything but Geo. I don't have time for sleep at all these days. End of semester exams are coming up, and my novel's screaming to be written. Okay, so maybe I need to explain a few things.

I may only be fifteen years old, but I'm writing a mystery novel. My first actually. It's what I've always wanted to do, ever since I found out my dad was a detective. Really ever since I first picked up 'A Study in Scarlet.' I'm Wallace Doyle. Yeah, Doyle. I have the same surname as that famous author. Another piece of inspiration. Looking back now, it was a variety of factors that spurred me into writing. I just never really thought school, of all things, could get in my way.

"Hey, you have your English exam too, Pen," I weakly counter. Who am I kidding. English is certainly not her greatest strength in school, but I know that won't stop her from scoring at least a B+ in it.

"Don't give me that, Wallie."

I shake my head. "Okay, fine. Where do you want to study?"

"Study? You mean cram?"

"Review. Whatever. Seriously, I need someone to check what I'm doing. You don't want me to fail, do you?" I beg.

"Get your dad! Come on, Wallie, he's smart too!"

"I can't exactly get him to look over my Geo right now. He's working on a case in Japan, and Mom's tagging along for 'ideas,' or at least what _she_ calls ideas."

"They're in Japan? No wonder! The never made you go to bed! You're home alone!" Penny exclaims. I sigh and shake my head. I swear, I told her this already!

"I'm staying with Artie, Penny. I'm not home alone."

"Your brother?" Her jaw drops.

"Yeah."

"Wait, since he's there watching you, how come you got to stay up?" There's no way he'd allow it!"

"You still obviously don't know him that well. He could care less if I slept or not. He doesn't even order the pizza himself. I have to call and pay myself. Heck, he was up listening to Linkin Park at full volume last night and blasting along on his electric guitar!"

Penny looks at me in horror. You'd think I transformed into something. The dream suddenly comes back to me and I quickly glance at the image reflecting off of a nearby display case. I try not to look any different as relief floods into me. Messy black hair, blue eyes, 5' 10", wrinkled and unbuttoned navy blue coat, extremely loose tie, untucked white dress shirt, baggy blue slacks . . . yeah, that's me. If you haven't already noticed, I really don't like our school uniform for Baker High School.

I try to ignore Penny's stare and clear my throat.

"So, Café Leaf sound good to you?"

Her expression morphs into some kind of glare and she gives me that doubtful librarian-look. I swear, Penny can do it better than a librarian, and she doesn't even have glasses! She doesn't really look bookish at all, really. Penelope has a feminine face, cloaked in natural, honey-colored hair that spills over her shoulders in layers. Her eyes are blue like mine, and as I said before she doesn't wear glasses, or even contacts. Penny's uniform is actually worn the way it's supposed to, with the exception of the ribbon the girls are giving to tie around their necks. Penny's always had this fear of being choked, and that ribbon doesn't really help. I'm kinda glad she doesn't wear it, actually. It makes me feel less like I'm breaking the rules by being creative with my uniform. And of course that skirt. Very unlike a librarian to wear a skirt that's cut off right above her knees. She must practice in front of a mirror or something.

"Sheesh, what?" I finally say as I recoil from her glare. "You need to go over the SAT words again, anyway!"

Penny lets out an angry sigh and grabs my elbow.

"Then lets go," she snaps, "since you're so eager to cram with me."

Penelope proceeds to drag me down the hall. I scramble to shake her iron hold even though I know I can't escape her grip. Man, I need to stop by the Band Hall! And Penelope's pulling me the wrong way! This is just perfect.

"Penelope!" I hiss. "Penelope, I need to get my oboe!" Suddenly, Penny has me in a death grip. Oh, great. I said her name.

"Don't . . . call . . . me . . . by . . . that . . . name . . . here," she growls back.

"I didn't say it loudly!"

"I don't care."

Penny releases me and I shake my head. I never really got the deal with her name. I mean, she acts like it's a curse to be named Penelope. No one besides me knows that Penny is just her nickname, and for some reason she wants to keep it that way. Okay, maybe I do understand a little where she's coming from. I don't really like my real name either, and I don't want everyone to know what it is. Besides her, of course. If either of us tell, the other gets to also. That's just the way it works.

If you're wondering what I don't like about my name, 'Wallace' just reminds me of money. It sounds like 'wallet.' Something I really don't want to sound like. I don't want to sound like a rich kid, even though I am. I hate feeling like I'm better than other people. It's always just bothered me.

"Hey, Wallie!" my friend yells, "You do something to make your girlfriend mad?"

I laugh dryly, "Like I'd ever go out with her. Get a life, Brad."

Brad smirks and lightly punches another guy I know called Andrew. Brad's uniform is worn pretty much like mine, and his hair is even dyed bright red. Andrew is more of a goody-two-shoes, and he wears it correctly. Actually, I think Andrew's a perfectionist. Or something like that. I really don't know. He just never looks like a slob.

Brad points at us and Andrew smirks. Oh, great. I turn to apologize to Penelope, and find her chattering with her friend Macala. I gently tap Penny on the shoulder.

"I'm going to pick up my oboe. I'll meet you at Café Leaf."

"Fine," she answers quickly and dives back into her conversation. Talking about boys again. Apparently, Macala has a crush on Andrew. Who knows why. I just hope they don't start talking about me.

"Going to the Band Hall?" Brad slaps me on the back.

"Yeah, but I can't stay," I reply. No doubt what's coming next.

"Are you going on a date with Penny?" Andrew smiles. He has a little more sense than Brad, and doesn't have as big a mouth, but he likes a game just as much as the next guy.

"If you can call cramming at the Café Leaf a date, then whatever."

Brad groans in mock disappointment and Andrew backs off a bit. I glower at Brad.

"Do you seriously have to do that?" I demand. "We've been best friends since forever. Period. We are not like that!"

"Hey, I'm sorry Wallie. We're just teasing you," Brad says apologetically. He looks a little worried. Must be seeing the circles under my eyes close up.

"Yeah, as usual," Andrew adds.

"I know, that's what's annoying."

We continue to talk as we enter the Band Hall, commenting on the latest breakups and talking trash about the teachers we don't like. I fumble for the handle on my oboe case as I start up on Geometry, and claw my sheet music into my arms.

"What do you guys think about that stuff?"

Brad snorts, "It sure ain't easy, but I won't fail."

"I'll be fine," Andrew shrugs. I groan. I'm going to be the only guy who cares about his grades that will bomb Geo. It doesn't matter if I cram or not.

"See you guys tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Good luck, Wallie."

I exit the Band Hall and shiver as I hunt for my Copenhagen-blue, 1970 Volkswagen. It's a beautiful car, and I'm proud to say my own father restored it. The person who had owned it before us took terrible care of it and it wouldn't even run anymore. We bought it from them for a few hundred bucks and got it working again. It was originally Artie's, but he gave it to me when I turned fifteen. He owns some kind of Toyota now.

I find my car and throw my junk in the backseat. As I'm starting up the engine, I happen to look up at the pure white sky. It's starting to snow. For a second, I just sit there watching it tumble down from the sky. When the flakes begin landing on my windshield, I back out of the space.

The dreams starts to haunt me again, and I frequently check my reflection in the mirror. I'm just not myself today.

_A/N: Yay, I love the title. It just goes hand in hand, doesn't it people? And I also love his car. XD I got the idea from Agasa's beetle. Wallie's car is the exact one I want. XD Throughout the first four chapters I kept throwing in hints about Wallie not being himself, just because it seemed like the right thing to do. Oh yeah, there's a few things I'd like to say, so sit tight before you click the review button. (You WILL click it, right?)_

_1- I refer to Wallace/Wallie as both names with hardly any pattern to it, except that only a few people know his real name. The same with Penelope/Penny, except that I do that with her way more often since she's in the narrating text. _

_2- I'm begging you all to submit 'OC's', or 'Original Cases.' It takes a lot of work to think them up, and I'm not sure I can do them all by myself. Please submit multiple ones if you can, and please don't put them in the reviews. I want everyone to have to figure out the cases for themselves. If you want to submit, (Please?) please send the names of the suspects, the murderer, and the murdered, as well as how they are killed and the motive. _

_3- For those of you who are keeping up with PAC, (The Pokemon Alliance Chronicles) don't expect a regular update schedule on this. I just write more whenever I feel like it, and then type it up on the computer. I'll try and stick to every other day until I'm out of written chapters, but then it'll get a little irregular. _

_4- This series is only going to be updated in the summer. Once school starts up again, I'll wrap up this part of the series. When summer comes next year I'll do a sequel. That's my current plan._

_Thanks again for reading._

_-Autumnchronicles_


	3. File 3: A Case

_A/N: Woah, sorry for posting so late in the day. I was really thinking that I'd have time around noon, but it turned out we had other plans then hanging around here. XD So, here's the next chapter. I'd better get writing on the sixth one soon . . . number five is sure coming fast. XD I decided the scene where Wallie leaves Penny should be at a Café after debating for a long time whether or not I should have it take place in an amusement park, like in the original. I chose a Café because I wanted it to have significance later on in the story. Pay attention to the dialogue when he walks in. It'll look familiar later. Not in this chapter, but after he gets shrunk. Well, here's to his and my first case. XD_

"_All you've ever wanted was someone to truly look up to you and six feet underground now I do . . ."_

_-Linkin Park_

**File 3: A Case**

I pull into a parking space by the Café Leaf and yank my car keys from the ignition. The Café Leaf is the most popular teen hangout on this side of town. They sell everything from coffee, to shakes, to pastries, to ice cream. Café Leaf even has WiFi.

I walk into the Café and inhale the scent of coffee and freshly baked goods. Nothing can compare to this place. The chocolate colored wood, the circular cream-colored rung in the round room overlooking the river, the round iron-and-glass tables, and the matching iron chairs with the beige cushion seats. This place is like a second home to me.

I spot Penelope at a table in the round room and walk through the large archway leading into that section of the Café

"Hey, Penny. Am I late? Or are you just early?" Penny smirks and rolls her eyes at me. This way of greeting each other has become a kind of ritual for us. We use it the most in Café Leaf. I'm about to sit down, when I suddenly stop and inspect the chair across from her. Perfect design. It's the wrong one.

I pick up the chair and look around the Café for my favorite.

"Wallie, you don't always have to sit in that chair!" Penny protests. I ignore her and spot a lady who's about to sit down in my chair. I walk across the room and tap her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but can we switch chairs?"

She gives me a funny look, but hands over her chair. I help her into the one I brought with me and haul mine back over. Penelope shakes her head when I slam myself down into my chair. "Why do you always have to do that? It's embarrassing!"

"Come on, it's not that bad. I just don't feel comfortable sitting in any other chair. It's to help me study."

"Wallace, they're all the same."

"No, I can feel the chip in the back when I sit down. It doesn't feel right to sit in the perfect ones." This is true. I've never sat down in any other chair at this Café since it opened. The very first time I came here, I was leaning on the table in a way that propped up the chair on two legs in a very unsteady way, and when I fell I knocked a chip out of the chair's back. They lost the chip, and since the Café had just opened they couldn't throw the chair away. It was too expensive anyway. Or at least, that's what they said. I have doubts about the expensive part since I managed to smash it, but nevertheless they never had the chance to trash it. Ever since I started coming here, I'd always pick the table with that chair, or get someone to switch. It was cute when I was little, but now it looks just plain strange, and most people think the chair I'm trading them is rigged or something.

"Just wondering, Wallie, but how did you get here?"

"Um . . ." I trail off. Well, she sure has my number. "I drove my car?"

"Wallace . . ." she groans, "you aren't old enough yet."

"So I'm fifteen. Big deal. I'm sixteen in February. Don't worry about it. Let's just get to work."

"Alright, then let's go over this Geometry," Penelope says smiling. I groan. "Hey, you wanted to do this, so you'd better pay attention."

"I know, I know, but at least let me order first."

I get a hot fudge sundae and we get to work, right after Penelope complains about me eating ice cream right before dinner.

"Hey, it won't really matter since there isn't any dessert in the house anyway," I say after pulling the spoon out of my mouth. "It's just gonna be pizza or Chinese, and then I'll be in front of a computer for ten hours."

"Do you have to do that? What is so special about writing that novel?"

"I . . . I don't know, I've always wanted to write mysteries. It's what I want to do."

"Hey, what was your pseudonym again, Mr. Doyle?" she asks jokingly.

"I told you, Sammy Watson."

"Okay, I got the Watson part, but I've been wondering about the Sammy part. What's up with that? Does it hold some significant meaning to mystery writers or something?"

"No, I just like that name. It's better than Wallace."

"Oh, brother. Here we go again. It's not a bad name!"

"It makes me sound like some rich, stuck-up brat. Anyhow, I'm almost done. I'll be able to finish it by the end of the week.

"Oh, no you don't. You're going to bed tonight, and if you come to school with circles under your eyes tomorrow I'm going to hurt you."

Okay, the novel will wait. There's no way I'm crossing Penny's path the wrong way. I did that once when we were younger and ended up with two black eyes and a sprained wrist. The kid knows how to defend herself, no need to worry about that.

"Alright, alright," I say. "Let's get to work."

We spend about an hour going over my Geo, and we're about fifteen minutes into Penny's SAT words when a noisy bunch enters the Café. I look up in interest. Two of them are fighting.

"Why did you have to come here? I thought we were over, John!" A girl yells. She's fighting with some guy. They're both in their mid-twenties, along with everyone else in the group.

"I came here to get coffee! What, can't I go out and get coffee anymore? It's not like I wanted to follow you!" The guy called John growls back.

"Just leave Anita alone, alright?" another girl steps in front of the first girl. I notice the girl called Anita is wearing an antique dress, complete with white gloves, and the one in front of her is wearing a wide brimmed hat and a sundress. You don't see that every day.

"Leave Anita alone? Leave me alone! I didn't come here to fight with you," John shouts. The manager of the Café gives him a stern look and he quickly quiets down and takes a seat in the main room. The third girl in the group drags the other two to the round room. She appears seemingly normal in her tank top and shorty-shorts, but she has some kind of air about her. They all do, really. It must be the clothes. They look like they all stepped out of different centuries.

I call out a few more SAT words for Penelope and help with the ones she misses, but I can't help but glance back at their table every now and then. Something's bothering me I guess. I don't know. They're blocking my view of the table behind them, so I'm not sure if it's them or that one. I try to ignore the feeling I have, but I still catch their request for a certain waiter. When he reaches the table, he talks with them a bit before he takes their orders.

"Anita, Katherine, Renata! You sure sounded like you were having some trouble with that guy back there," he says cheerfully.

"Tell me about it . . ." Anita groans.

"Her ex," the girl in the sundress explains.

"Unfortunately we happened to come at the same time," the modern one says, looking straight at the waiter. She pulls her humungo purse onto her lap and pulls out a bottle of lotion. She rubs it into her hands vigorously.

"Ah, I understand, Katherine. So, may I take your orders?"

Okay, so the girl in the antique is Anita, the one wearing the sundress is Renata, and the last one marinating her hands in lotion is Katherine. Something just doesn't seem right here. I can feel it.

I try to concentrate on calling out the SAT words, but I keep glancing behind my shoulder. Penelope starts noticing.

"What's wrong? You look distracted."

I whirl to face her and say, "What? No, I'm not distracted."

We lock eyes for a moment and Penny sighs.

"Are you tired of this? Am I being to difficult?"

"No, no, you're doing great," I quickly say. In truth, she really is. Penelope is a hard worker. "It's more like there's something wrong with you. What's on your mind?"

"I . . ." Penelope trails off and closes her mouth. Slowly, she shakes her head. "I don't know . . . it feels like . . . never mind."

"Hey, don't do that. Seriously, what's up?"

"Wallace," she begins. Uh oh. It's gotta be something serious if she uses my name like that in public. "I have a bad feeling."

What? She's feeling it too?

"Um . . . like . . . what?"

Penelope breathes in deeply and shoves the air out of her lungs. She does that when she's nervous. "It's silly, but it's like you're going to disappear or something. I don't know."

Huh? Okay, maybe we're not feeling the same bad feeling. Well, I'd better do something to get her mind off it.

"Disappear? Me? No way. If it makes you feel better, we could come here again over the break without the cram-work. You know, just to talk." Wait. Did I really just say that? That sounds like I'm asking her out!

"S-sure. You've got to promise you'll come, though." Well, I've already trapped myself. Might as well keep going.

"You bet. When have I ever let you down?"

Penelope laughs nervously. "Y-yeah, you're right. When do you wanna do that?" Might as well sugar coat it . . .

"How about the twenty-third? That way we can see each other right before Christmas."

"Sounds great."

Huh. Well, she seems fine now. Time to get to work on this SAT review. A few minutes into the work, I start looking over my shoulder again. This time Penelope picks it up.

"Hey, focus on me, and stop staring at those girls. They're too old for you."

"That's not the reason I'm looking at them," I absentmindedly answer.

"What do you mean? What other reason do you have to look back there?" Penelope demands.

"Something isn't right."

"Oh, yeah right. That's the worst excuse I've ever–"

Suddenly the Café lights flicker and shut off, leaving everyone in darkness. Before my eyes can adjust to the light, I hear a loud bang. Someone yells in pain. They've been hit.

"GET DOWN!" I shout and drag Penelope under the table with me. Continued screaming, followed by more gunshots. Penny throws her arms around my neck and buries her face in my coat. I hug her back. Another one is fired, and then something falls onto the floor with a thump. We crouch there silently, not daring to move. I can feel her heart trying to leap out of her chest. Mine isn't acting all that calm either. A few more seconds pass, and I glance behind me. It's really too dark to make anything out. It's gotten dark, and this room is facing the river. There are only a few house lights past that. On the other side of the Café, there are only a few dim streetlights that can be seen through the window. This blackout was definitely planned, and whoever planned it did so well.

"I'm going to go check this out," I whisper.

"Wallace, no! You aren't some detective in your novel. You could get shot!" Penelope hisses.

"Don't worry, they already used all their shots and tossed their gun."

"What if they have another one?"

"I don't think so. This was planned for a specific person, I'm sure."

"Don't go all smart on me. You don't know that."

I try to protest, but she grabs my arm to keep me from moving. Right about then the lights come back on. And people start screaming again.

"Oh my God!" The girl called Renata screams.

"He's dead!" Katherine whimpers.

"John!" Anita exclaims.

I shrug off Penny's hand and scramble out from underneath our table. "This was a murder!" I yell. "Everyone stay right where you are!"

_A/N: Sorry, but cliffhangers are just my style. At least I didn't cut it off BEFORE he said it was a murder. XD Just a bit of trivia; I based the murderer off of my little sister. Really fitting, I guess. She laughed and said that it sounded like her when I told her. Oh, yeah. She could totally commit murder. XD_


	4. File 4: The Gloves

_A/N: Well, sorry it's so late again, but what can you do. XD This is where Wallie figures out his first case. I hope I write it alright . . . guess the murderer if you want to._

"_I don't care what you think as long as it's about me . . ."_

_-Fall Out Boy_

**File 4: The Gloves**

Inspector Russ and the police got here just a couple minutes after the shots were fired. The police station is right down the street.

"All right, the victim is twenty-eight year old John Roscavar, shot six times until dead during a planned blackout. We've caught the person who was fooling around with the lights at the time of the murder. Twenty-six year old Hayden Corwell, a new employee here, assisted the crime, but he currently refuses to say who actually committed it," Inspector Russ says gruffly.

"Couldn't he have just killed the lights and shot the victim himself?" Someone asks from the crowd.

"No, it's impossible," Russ replies. " There's no way he could've fired the gun at the victim right after the lights went out because he was in the basement. We even caught him in there, hiding. That leaves everyone upstairs. Someone in this Café has to be guilty."

This deduction causes the room to erupt.

"I have to get to my night job!" a man yells.

"My curfew's almost up!" a high schooler whines.

"I have to pick up my daughter from daycare!"

"We're innocent!"

"Let us go!"

"Quiet!" The Inspector shouts. Silence falls over the Café instantly. "I don't want to be here any more than you. Just cooperate with us, and we should be able to narrow down the suspects. We're going to try and get the innocent out of here as soon as we can."

I decide that it's time to help out a little.

"Inspector Russ," I step forward. "I have already narrowed it down."

He looks at me and blinks. "Who the hell are you?"

"One of the suspects." I shrug and manage a laugh.

"Wallie," Penny hisses, "what are you doing?"

"Solving a case. You don't want to be stuck here forever, do you?"

She falls silent as I walk towards the victim's table. The guy's body is draped across the table, pretty much untouched. I have to admit, I've never seen a dead person before, and it isn't exactly pretty. Kind off . . . scary, actually. I'm glad I just have to write about this stuff. This is going to be a one-time thing.

"This man was shot six times by that gun, and after the culprit ran out of ammo they tossed their gloves and the gun, correct?"

"Yeah," Russ grumbles, "but how does that narrow things down? Get to the point."

"The victim was shot by someone in the round room. Everyone else is definitely innocent."

"What?" But couldn't someone from the main room have run this way, shot him, tossed the weapon, and run back?"

I step on the wood floor in front of the victim and smile as it creaks under my weight.

"Of course not. There wasn't any noise. The floor doesn't creak where the carpet is, for starters, and there was no way he was shot from the back. There are bullet holes in the glass in the front of the shop to prove it."

The Inspector says nothing for a second, then he looks up.

"That deduction of yours is fine and everything, but who was sitting in the round room?"

"My friend and I were sitting at this table here," I point at the table stacked with textbooks and notes, "those three girls were sitting at this table next to it," I place a hand on theirs and they glare at me, "and someone was sitting at the table over there. I couldn't see who it was, though, because the girls were blocking my view. Do any of you–"

"Those two men dressed in black over there," Renata points. "They were in the round room, too."

I turn to get a look at them and almost yelp. They're dressed in black, alright. They're the spitting image of the creepers in my dreams. My heart pounds a little faster. I really hope I can finish up this case fast.

I try to catch my breath and I nod. "Yeah, everyone else can go."

There is a jovial response from everyone else in the Café, and the innocent rush to the front counter to pay.

"Hold it!" The Inspector yells. "We need to get your names and a way to contact each of you before you go! Hey, are you listening?"

Twenty-seven complaints, twenty-seven names, and thirty minutes later, it's just the police, Penelope, me, a bloody corpse, and the suspects. Time to figure this murder out.

"Now, what did you say your name was again, kid?" The Inspector asks me.

"I'm Wallie–"

Penelope nudges me.

"Wallace Doyle, and I'm sixteen years old. I was here studying for finals with my friend Penelope Burlough." If I've got to say mine, then the Inspector can learn Penelope's name, too.

Russ turns to Penny. "That you?"

"Yes. I'm fifteen." I feel her nudge me again, but I just glare back. Even if I solve this right, I'd still get in trouble for driving without a real license.

"Okay. Do either of you know this guy?" Russ asks. We shake our heads.

"Nope."

"No, all I picked up was that his name was John when he came in. He was fighting with that girl over there. Your name's Anita, right?" I say.

The girl in the antique dress jumps and looks at me. "Wh-who . . . how do you know that?" She says wide-eyed.

"I heard Renata call you that when you came in."

"Hey, how do you know my name?" Renata demands.

"I deduced it when the waiter called your friend Katherine. He said all your names when he greeted you. A friend?"

"A friend? Duh!" Katherine yells. "He was the one who blacked out the lights!"

"Really? That was Hayden Corwell? Interesting," I remark smiling. This is really starting to come together.

"Wait, wait, wait," The Inspector holds up a hand. "Slow down. You three, tell me your names and ages, as well as your relationship with both Hayden Corwell and John Roscavar."

"Hey, how long do we have to stay here?" The taller of the two men speaks up.

"Just cooperate and you'll be out of here soon," Russ growls. "Who's first?"

Anita steps forward first. "I'm Anita Moxy, and I'm twenty-seven years old. Hayden Corwell was one of my little sister's best friends in high school, and we all hang out at parties and stuff. And as for John Roscavar . . ." she trails off.

"Go on." Inspector Russ prods her. Shakily, she takes a deep breath.

"Inspector," Anita looks up at him pleadingly, "please don't count this against me in any way, because I can assure you we're all innocent, but John was my ex. We met in college."

"Hmm . . . well, you're still a suspect no matter what you say, but this could be a pretty big motive."

"I know, I know!" Anita cries. Tears are welling up in her eyes. "But I never would've killed him! I still liked him . . . we were just . . . having problems."

Katherine snorts.

"You?" The Inspector turns to her.

"The name's Katherine Moxy, twenty-five years old, younger sister of Anita Moxy. Like she said, Hayden was a close friend in high school, and now we all hang out. Or at least we did until he decided to get stupid. I never really knew that Roscavar character all that well, though. Anita just brought him home one day and introduced us. He really was a jerk, though. Sorry Anita."

Anita sniffs and wipes her eye with a gloved hand. Russ seems to notice their clothes for the first time.

"Why are you all dressed up?"

"We're big fans of old clothes. We like to dress up for the fun of it," Renata answers.

"How come she's wearing normal clothes?" Russ points at Katherine.

"I didn't feel like it today," she snaps tartly.

"Okay . . . um . . . would you like to go next . . . um . . ."

"Renata Andres, twenty-seven years old. I'm Anita's best friend. I know Hayden through Katherine, just like Anita, and my relationship with her ex was to keep the jerk from hurting my best friend."

At this point, I'm bored to tears by all this interrogation junk. It's going nowhere. I wander off to the spot on the floor where the gun and gloves were tossed. Penelope notices and follows me.

"Wallie, what are you doing now?"

"I'm trying to figure out who the gun and the gloves belong too. It wasn't all that smart for them to just chunk them like this, but then again, the person who committed this crime was one of those dumb girls anyway." I squat down beside the weapon.

"What makes you sure?" Penny glares at me.

"For one thing, the accomplice got caught easily. The murderer must have known that this might happen, because they got the guy to keep from telling. The only way they could've done that was if they'd known the guy fairly well, and those two men in black don't know him." Hmm . . . there really doesn't seem to be anything fishy about the weapon or the gloves. I continue looking anyway.

"How do you know that?"

"I don't. Just assuming."

"You are a really sloppy detective, you know that?"

"Yup," I laugh, "it's a good thing this was a really sloppy–" I gasp. Man, that reeks! What in the world is that smell? I cover my nose and back away from the weapon.

"What is it?" Penny asks.

"Do you smell that?"

Penelope bends down to get a whiff of the evidence and immediately shrinks back.

"Woah, it smells like someone dumped a whole bottle of perfume on those gloves! Why did they even need gloves? It's not like they were firing close range and didn't want to get blood on them! They would've needed more than gloves for that!"

"They did it so their fingerprints couldn't be identified on the gun. It was to keep from being found out. Yeah, it's either perfume or . . ." I stop and smile. "I may be a sloppy detective, but the murderer was even sloppier! I just figured out this case. I'm a genius!"

Penelope glowers at me, unimpressed. "Whatever, Mr. Detective. Just tell the police what you found out so we can get out of here."

_A/N: Okay, I'd really appreciate hearing your guesses on who the murderer is. And no, it's not the BO. XD Well, next chapter is the last of his time as a high schooler. I make it terrible. XD_


	5. File 5: Potential Detective

_A/N: Well, this is it. The chapter where Wallie's life starts spiraling out of control. And no, it's not the chapter where he bombs his Geometry exam. XD My older sister, (a big time plot artist) read the first five chapters of this and said that it was too much like the original, except for the little details. I guess she's kinda right . . . but it's only for the beginning. I wanted it to start out with similar circumstances and then move ahead on it's own to show how Wallace works differently as a detective-turned mystery writer. So if you're thinking the same thing, don't worry. The next chapter was definitely not in the book. At least, how it starts out. It'll gradually inch out of following the CC plot almost exactly._

"_Stop right there, that's exactly where I lost it. See that see that line, well I never should've crossed it. Stop right there, well I never should've said that. It's the very moment that I wish that I could take back . . ."_

_-Relient K _

**File 5: Potential Detective**

"Inspector Russ!" I call. He seems to be having a little trouble interrogating those two men in black. Good thing he doesn't have to anymore. "Those two aren't on the suspect list anymore. I've figured it out."

"Oh, really?" Russ challenges me skeptically.

"Yeah. The murderer wasn't all that great at planning things out. She messed up in several places."

"What do you mean, 'she?'" Katherine demands. She holds her purse offensively. Like that's going to do anything.

"I mean that it's one of you three."

"What, not you're girlfriend over there?" Katherine rebounds again. I feel myself growing hot.

"She is not my girlfriend, dammit! And she was glued to me the entire blackout!"

Katherine laughs, "Right, she isn't your girlfriend. So who did murder my sister's ex?"

"Well, I'm no detective, but like I said before, the murderer wasn't very good at planning. She let her accomplice get caught, and left it no secret that they were close. They might've even planned the murder in front of everyone else through a code! And not to mention those gloves weren't very smart."

" A code? That's ridiculous!" Katherine says.

"Yeah, really. Are you trying to say I'm the murderer?" Anita wonders. "Because I don't get how my gloves make me guilty."

"No, you're innocent all right, Anita. You couldn't put on lotion with those gloves, and your hand bag isn't large enough to hold a gun."

"What? Lotion? I'm confused."

"Those gloves stink. Someone heavily applied lotion before putting on the gloves. Only one of you could store the weapon and gloves, and only one of you put on lotion," I continue.

"What are you saying?" Renata stutters. "Are you saying that . . ."

I smile. This is great. It's all falling together perfectly.

"Yes. Katherine Moxy killed John Roscavar. It was you!" I exclaim. Katherine looks shocked at first, and then she recovers.

"W-what? Where's your evidence? Couldn't Renata have put on lotion, too?"

"Like I said, these gloves," I pick them up and hold them so everyone can see.

"H-hey!" Russ yells at me. "Don't touch the evidence!" I smirk at him.

"Relax, these gloves can't get fingerprints on them. In fact, this has nothing to do with fingerprints. It's the smell."

I outstretch my hand so that the Inspector can sniff. He covers his nose and backs away.

"Good, God! The murderer must've just marinated these in lotion!" Heh. That's exactly what I'd been thinking earlier.

"Yeah, Katherine did. I saw her. If that's not enough for you, just smell her!"

Russ takes her hand and doesn't even have to sniff.

"No doubt. She's definitely guilty. The gloves alone are enough to give you a headache. But how did she plan all this? What about the code?"

Sheesh, isn't this guy supposed to be with the police? Why is he relying on a kid so much? I sigh and begin to explain, "This murder wasn't planned for this exact day, it was planned to take place whenever Katherine could get John Roscavar and the group to cross paths. It was initially supposed to take place at Café Leaf, because it was the only place she knew well enough. Hayden could've told her all the info she needed to plan it out. They've been friends since high school, so Katherine would've just had to give him a little push to keep quiet for her. As for the code, she just had to mention Anita's ex to tell him she was ready."

"One thing still gets me . . . how come nobody saw her during the shooting?"

You've got to be kidding me . . . "Because no one had enough time for their eyes to adjust when the shooting started that no one could see her when we were up. It was inevitable that when it did start, someone would yell something like, 'get down,' and everyone would take cover under the tables. By the time their eyes did adjust, they'd be too scared to look up and see who it was until the shooting stopped, because everyone would be screaming and no one would know the intentions of the one shooting. That's pretty much it, Inspector."

There's silence for a moment, then Russ speaks again. This time he isn't talking to me.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Moxy?"

"I . . ." Katherine looks at her feet remorsefully. She slowly looks up and fixes a glare on me. "I don't regret what I did. That jerk deserved it. He was just using Anita all along. He just wanted her money. I heard him telling his buddies one night at a party."

"No," Anita whispers. "That can't be true!"

"It is. I did you a favor, sis."

I turn away from the scene as Katherine Moxy is arrested and begin to gather up my notes. Penny does the same. Neither of us talk, and I wander outside. She lingers a little longer to pay. I'm about to leave, when Inspector Russ catches me.

"Hey, Wallace. That was pretty good deduction in there. You have an eye for detail."

I blink and shake my head, embarrassed. "Not really, Inspector. I just happened to be paying attention to that table when she was putting on the lotion. I had a kind of gut feeling something bad was about to happen."

"Well, maybe you should listen to your gut more often. See ya, Wallace."

"Um, Inspector?"

"What?"

"Please call me Wallie."

"Whatever." Russ wanders off to his police car and I lean against my beetle and look up at the dark sky. The snow stopped a while ago, but a thin sheet of it still lays over the pavement. It might start snowing again. I inhale the chilly night air and watch as a steady stream of mist escapes from my mouth when I let it out. I can hear the sound of the traffic rushing past on the next street over and can see the dazzling city lights in the distance. A perfect night. If only it could last like this forever.

"Good job, Wallie," a voice says. I turn to face Penny and smile at her. My best friend. Once again, don't laugh at me.

"Thanks. Don't expect me to do that again."

Penelope laughs and runs her fingers through her hair. "Don't worry, my expectations from you are always set on low."

I smirk and look back up at the sky.

"You know, Penelope . . ." Something rushes past in the corner of my eye. I whirl around just in time to see two guys in black going around the corner. And they have a briefcase. Suspicious. I take off after them. "I'll have to catch you later!"

"Wallace, no! You just said–" Penelope calls after me. I stop and look back.

"Forget what I just said. Something's up with those two characters and I'm gonna find out what."

"No, Wallie please do–"

I cut her off again, "Call Artie and tell him to come and pick up my car! I'll be home a little late!"

I toss my keys to her and she snatches them out of the brisk air. I run towards the corner. I'm about to turn it, when she yells something else at me.

"You've already solved one case tonight. Isn't that enough for you? This is dangerous! You should stick to your dumb books, Wallace!"

"Oh, yeah, why should I?"

"I have a bad feeling about this!"

"Who cares?" I shout. "Why should I listen to you?"

"Because I–"

I don't wait for her to finish. I dash around the corner and get on the trail of the men dressed in black.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Penelope stands there, stunned. He's never done anything like that to her before. She feels her legs give away and she leans on his car for support. She stares at the corner he disappeared behind and whispers, "Because I might never see you again." Penelope rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands. _And because I . . ._

Penelope can't even finish it in her head. She's got to stop this. He's her best friend after all, right?

_____________________________________________________________________

I catch them right as they're going onto another street. It's actually a pretty good idea to be this far behind, as long as they don't take any sudden turns and manage to shake me. I follow them down two more streets, until we're in a really trashy part of town. It's a good thing I run cross country, or I'd be beat.

They take a left into an alley. This must be their destination. I slow down and sneak around to the very edge of the condemned brick building making up the nearest wall of the alley. I hold my breath and peak around the corner, heart pounding. I have to keep myself from gasping. It's one of the men in black all right, and he's making some kind of transaction with some other guy.

"You got the money?" the stranger says to the tall, shadowy man.

"Right here," he replies coldly. He unlocks the briefcase and opens it just enough so the other guy can see. I lean closer to try and get a good look at the guy, but he's wearing dark sunglasses. The other one was also . . . hey! Where did the other guy–

Something comes at me and back of my head slams into the wall. I crumple to the pavement, clutching the back of my head.

"Aaaaaargh!" I yell. Damn, that hurts!

"You were right. Doyle was following us," one of them says. They know my name? Oh yeah . . . I said it when I was begin interrogated. They didn't even think to do us separately . . . I roll over to see who's talking.

The tall one answers, "I knew it. Well, we can't let him go tell everyone. We've got to kill him."

The other man in black is shorter and more built than the other one. This guy pulls out a shiny black gun and points it at me. Oh, great. Just what every teenager wants to be doing at seven in the evening.

"Hang on, Indigo," the tall man grabs his shoulder, "this will leave a mess. You know he won't want that."

"We can clean it up easy, Navy."

The guy called 'Navy' smiles. Something he could seriously go without doing. I shiver when his gaze falls on me.

"I know, I know. But how about we test out the new drug that was designed for the Organization? It's completely undetectable and it won't leave a trace. Besides a pretty corpse, of course," he smiles again. Man, this Navy freak really needs to stop doing that.

Indigo sighs and puts away his gun. "Whatever you say, Navy."

Oh no. An undetectable drug does not sound good. I've got to get out of here, and fast!

I struggle to get up, but my head's hurt pretty bad. All I manage to do is prop myself against the dusty brick wall. Indigo notices me trying to get away and grabs my hair.

"Aargh, what the hell is your problem?" I manage to choke out. This jerk seems to find my question funny. He starts laughing at me. I glare up at him and try to move again, but then he slams my head against the brick wall. Again. I fall to the ground. Again. Damn, if they keep this up I'm gonna die from loss of blood! I hate to say it, but Penelope was right. I should've listened to her. Penelope. A chord is struck in my heart and it starts hurting. It's almost like it's . . . breaking. What is this?

Navy holds up my head by my blood matted hair. It's over. I might as well find out one thing before I go.

"What makes you . . ." I wince and cough, but I still manage to continue, ". . . think I'm a threat to you? Why are you doing this?"

Navy smiles again. I'm beginning to hate this guy.

"Because you've got the potential for detective work, and you're on our trail."

I blink. What is he saying?

"Wh-what?"

"You're on our list of PDs, or Potential Detectives, in the area, and you were following us. Not a smart move. In case you were wondering, you're brother Arthur Doyle is on the list too. He's got a nice name, all right." He and Indigo laugh.

"Here, Navy," Indigo holds something out in his gloved hand and Navy takes it with a cloth. Navy holds the cloth in front of my face. I see something in the cloth. A capsule. Oh, no you don't. I clench my jaws shut.

"Goodbye, Mr. Doyle. Say hello to John Roscavar for me," he whispers in my ear. He pries open my mouth, despite my efforts, and forces it down my throat. I'm too weak to resist. I can't believe it's gonna end this way.

Navy smashes my head down on the pavement, and a splitting pain runs through my skull. My vision blurs and makes my head hurt worse, so I close my eyes. I hear their footsteps as they run for it. For a moment, nothing happens. I'm just laying here bleeding all over the place. Then the spasms begin.

It's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's like jolts of fire just slamming through my entire body. I'm burning up and my skin feels way too tight for my body. I try to cry out, but I don't hear anything. I can't move without sending a wave of fire through my body. My head feels good compared to this. Man, what a way to die. I think I'd rather bleed to death then have to go though this. I wish it wasn't the end yet . . . not yet . . . because I still . . . need to apologize . . . . to . . . . . . Penelope . . . . . . . .

She's the last thing I think about before blacking out.

_A/N: Yay, cliffhanger. Sorry if you don't like them, but I do them a lot. Well, you all know what comes next as it starts out a bit traditional-like. But in the next chapter, like I said before, there's something new. It's actually kinda funny. You see, his brother gets introduced. That's all I'll say . . . XD As for the case he solved, good job WolfSummoner93. :3 You got it right! I'm not sure if I wrote it well enough, though. Please tell me how I did. _

_Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention the names. I didn't want them to have the same names as the Japanese BO, but I wanted them based off of them. I also didn't want to have to look up alcohol names for obvious reasons . . . so I made up a whole new branch. I know colors like the back of my hand, so this will be a snap to think up dark colors all the time. This branch won't be as secretive as the Japanese BO later on. It starts out the way they do, but then they're going to kind of begin taking more risks and become more suicidal. So I've come up with nicknames for the two branches. :D The original one from CC is the Shadow Branch, and mine is the Suicide Branch. XD That's literally what I'm going to call them . . . that's all for now._

_-Autumnchronicles_


	6. File 6: A Wrecked Life

_A/N: Sorry it took so long, but like I said, after the first five chapters there isn't a set update time. Just whenever I feel like it, I guess. Here's the first twist. It's actually kind of funny. At least I think so . . . (Don't criticize my mind!) Enjoy, I guess . . ._

"_That's what you get when you let your heart win . . ."_

_-Paramore_

**File 6: A Wrecked Life**

Something cold brushes my nose. It's freezing tonight, and my covers aren't thick enough. I try to pull them closer, but all I get is a handful of clothes . . . the pants of my school uniform, to be exact. Huh. I must have zonked out at the computer. Unusual, the story is usually so intense I can't sleep. My sleepless nights must be catching up to me. Time to haul myself off the floor and get up . . . come on, get up . . .

Whatever brushed my nose is now falling everywhere. I can feel it covering my body. I squeeze my eyes tight and slap a hand down on the ground to hoist myself up. Wait, why does my floor feel like asphalt? My eyes snap open. Lights from the center of the city shine over onto the street. I shield my eyes with my arm until they can adjust. It's snowing . . . I . . . I remember something about snow . . . but what though?

I can see again. I'm definitely in town. The question is, how did I wind up in the middle of the street here? I rub my eyes and sit up, shivering. I become aware of a throbbing feeling in the back of my head. I gingerly feel the spot and wince. Dried blood. Something hit me. Hard. I pull my hand away to see if there's any fresh blood on it. I wish I hadn't.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaagh!" My scream pierces the peaceful winter evening as I scramble to my feet.

I stumble away. My clothes feel way too baggy. What did Artie do to the laundry this time? Man, why can't I run? I'm just out of it! My vision's going crazy, my senses are going crazy, my orientation's going crazy, my body's going crazy . . . What the heck's happening to me? I feel so . . . what's the word . . . small? Have I mentioned I'm crazy? And . . . tired . . . woah, I'm running as fast as I can and I'm hardly getting anywhere . . . My pants are too long, and my shoes are barely staying on my feet. I toss the shoes. They're just slowing me down. I immediately wish I hadn't. My socks get soaked when my feet sink into the fresh snow, but it's too late to turn back now. I have to find out if it's true. I happen to glance down. Are those my footprints in the snow? Why are they so tiny? And so close together? And what happened to my shoes? What's happening, period?

No . . . this can't be real . . . it's just like . . . it's gotta be a dream. Yeah, that's it. I try to run faster. I trip after a few steps and my knees grind against the trousers of my uniform. It hurts. This is becoming way too real. I go down a couple of streets and end up near the outskirts of downtown. I spot an office building nearby. Good. They have big, dark windows. I'm running out of energy fast, but I'm almost there.

Panting, I lean against the dark building. Everyone's gone for the holidays, no doubt. There isn't even anybody on the street. It's just me. I manage to catch my breath somewhat, but I stay there so I can try to calm down. I glance up at the black glass to see how bad I look.

Big mistake.

I don't see me. At least, I don't see what I should look like.

Instead, I see what I used to look like when I was say . . . six years old!?

"AAAAAAGH!" I yell. Wait, didn't this happen before? Right! I've got to get out of here!

I scramble away from the window like it's a bomb ready to explode. Which I know it is. At least, that's how my other dream went. This one skips a few scenes and I plow into someone's leg. I try to run the other way, but ahand grabs my waist and whirls me around. A flashlight shines in my face and I scream. Yeah, scream. I sound like . . . no . . . please no! It's just a dream! It's just a . . .

"Hey, kid," a voice asks. I cover my head with my arms and pull my uniform tighter around me. This stupid thing always was loose, yeah. Yeah, that's it. I'm just being paranoid. "Hey, kid, you lost?" The voice asks again. The flashlight is whisked away from my face and I blink, trying to adjust to the light. I look up to see . . . a police officer! I realize snow is collecting on my head and I shake it off.

"I'm not a kid!" I exclaim. Oh no. I was right. I sound like a mouse again. Please tell me I have hearing problems. Please tell me this is not as real as it seems.

The man chuckles and picks me up.

"Put me down!" I yell helplessly. "I'm not a–" We walk by the office building. My breath escapes from my lungs. Time seems frozen. There I am. It's not just something I'm seeing out of the corner of my eye in a bad nightmare I know I'll wake up from. There's no doubt. It's not just a dream anymore. My nightmare has come true for real.

My clothes are draped over my body like a tent, and dried blood is stuck to my forehead. I'm not dead, no. It's much worse. I . . . I really am six years old. It's no hallucination. But how can this be possible? I still remember being fifteen! I remember . . . wait . . . that drug! Maybe this was a side effect or something! Maybe . . . maybe they actually think I'm dead!

"It's okay, calm down. We're just going to take you down to the station and call your parents to pick you up, 'K?" He says, oblivious to my turmoil.

Oh, no. Whatever happens I _cannot_ go to the station. I have to run for it, but how? Even if I manage to get away, I don't think a can make it home like this! Wait, the station is on the way home from the Café . . . maybe . . .

I reluctantly stop struggling and allow him to put me in the car. I sit in the backseat on the driver's side. It's the only way I can try this.

As he pulls up to the street by the station, I can't help but wonder how he missed the gaping hole in my head. Maybe he just doesn't want to scare the little kid. He suddenly stops at the light. Here's my chance.

Before anyone can do anything, I throw the door open and dart out into the street. The light turns green right as I do this, and cars skid frantically out of the way. No one wants to run over a little kid. Not that I care or not. I'm escaping either way. I laugh bitterly under my breath as my damp feet are about to meet the sidewalk opposite of the police station. Just two more steps and . . .

Something plows into me. Something big. I turn my head to see what hit me and get an eyeful of two bright lights. Headlights. A car. Stars flash before my eyes as I go down and skid across the pavement, and even more cars screech out of the way. My vision's getting blurry again, and I can't see the car that hit me clearly. It just bumps me, really, but I've lost so much blood already that I can't get back up. I'm too weak like this. A car door slams. The person who hit me seems to think they did this to me. I don't think I have the energy to tell them I'm okay.

I manage to roll over, and my vision clears up a little. The car that hit me is blue. It's almost the same color as . . . is it?

I struggle to prop myself up on my elbows and find myself face to face with the guy who hit me. We stare at each other, wide-eyed.

"Artie," I whisper. It's my brother! He hit me with my Volkswagen! My own car!

He stares back in surprise. "How do you know my name?"

I mentally slap myself. How can I forget my condition so easily? "Artie, I can't explain everything now, but it's me! Your brother, Wallie! You've got to–"

"Woah, kid, slow down. You really shouldn't run into the middle of the street like that!"

I suddenly have more energy than I remember. "Are you even listening to a word I'm saying?" I yell at him.

"Yeah, you're a pretty obsessive fan, I've gathered. Are you okay?"

"No, you idiot! I'm your brother! Wallace Owen Doyle, fifteen years old! You gave me that nineteen-seventy Copenhagen blue Volkswagen Beetle for my fifteenth birthday, even though I wasn't supposed to drive it alone. I hate being called Wallace because it sounds like money, and I have to settle for Wallie," I say in a low voice.

"Come on, anyone could Google that. Where are your parents, kid?" He says, annoyed. I can feel myself tearing up. Is our life this predictable? What's something only we'd know?

"Tokyo, Japan. You're supposed to be watching me right now, but you're so lazy you can't even order pizza. You don't get me to bed on time and you don't care if I stay up all night writing Artie Slide because my detective in the novel is based off of you. You're full name is Arthur Conan Doyle, in honor of the great writer, but you never wrote. It was one of your worst subjects."

"Okay, that's just plain creepy, kid," Artie backs away from me, then starts flagging down the cop who was trying to get me to the station. He's currently trying to fix the traffic problems. If this accident had actually hurt me, I'd be dead by now because the idiot didn't even stop to call an ambulance. For once, it's a good thing the guy handling this is a rookie. I have one thing left before he notices and my life ends.

"You were a science and math geek in high school!" I hiss. "It was around your freshmen year that I was actually this age, and I made fun of you for being a nerd and that caused you to later on give up your dream of being a big shot scientist and you got into your stupid band."

He stops flagging down the cop. Snow flutters between us as he looks down at me. For a moment Artie looks hurt. He wipes his eyes with a fist and replaces his look with a glare.

"How do you know that?" Artie demands.

"I can't explain it out here. Tell the cop I'm your little brother and you're going to drive me to the hospital or something. He's a rookie. He'll believe it. We even look alike."

There's no denying it. If I was his age, we'd practically be twins. Of course there's currently a sixteen year difference, but hey. Something suddenly dawns on me.

"How could you actually think I was some random kid off the street, anyway? I'm still in my school uniform!"

"Uh . . . oh . . . that's what that is? I thought it was some kind of . . . oh, that _is _your uniform! I didn't recognize it!" Artie remarks. I shake my head and try to get up. Not an easy task. I'm more beat up than my brother's first car.

"Idiot . . . how can you be so smart yet so dumb? You had to wear this for four years!"

"You really are my brother . . ."

"Oh, really?" I reply sarcastically. I see the cop coming closer out of the corner of my eye. The rest of the force finally seemed to notice the pile of traffic in front of their station and came out to help.

"Excuse me, but did you hit this boy?"

"Um . . . yeah? He just ran out in the street all of the sudden and I didn't see him till the last second."

"He ditched my car right as the light turned green and I couldn't do anything. I'm really sorry. I'll be taking him with me now . . ."

"What for?" Artie demands. Heh. He doesn't even have to make anything up for this story. It technically is all true. "This kid's my brother! I was just looking for him. I have to take him to the hospital right now."

"W-wait! You can't just–"

"Can't you see the resemblance?"

"Um . . . yeah, but–"

"Are you blind or something? He's bleeding to death in the middle of the street! I'm leaving!" Artie yells. A few of the people in front of us move their cars out of the way. A wise move. You do not want to be on the same road as my brother when he's mad. Although, I'm not quite sure if it's an act or not. Oh, well. At least it gets these people out of the way.

"Come on, Wallie."

Before I can protest, he picks me up and hauls me to the car. You've got to be kidding me.

"Put me down!" I hiss in his ear.

"You're supposed to be hurt, remember? I'm putting on a show for those people."

It's true, there are a lot of people watching now. Not good. We've got to get out of here fast!

Artie throws me in the backseat with all my junk and gets behind the wheel. Before the rookie officer can say anything else, we're flying down the street. I crawl to shot gun and buckle up.

"Good show. I just hope that doesn't make the news," I remark dryly. It's really starting to snow now. Artie flips on the windshield wipers. I watch the monotonous blades sweep the delicate flakes away.

"Okay, would you like to explain to me what's going on now?"

"Someone tried to kill me."

"What? No I didn't, it was an accident!"

"No, not you. Don't drive to the hospital," I quickly add.

"Look at you, you're bleeding everywhere! You need to–"

"You can patch me up at the house. We can't afford to check me in. Like I said, someone tried to kill me. Has Penny filled you in?"

"What, she knows?"

"No, just about the Café Leaf case."

"Yeah . . . hey, speaking of her, you're a real jerk, you know that?"

I shoot him daggers.

"Shut up."

"You didn't even give her a ride home or anything! You just left her there with your keys and told her to call me to pick up your stupid car! If I were her, I would've driven this into a ditch."

"Hey, Artie, where is she? Is Penny okay?"

"I offered her a ride, when she called, but she refused and said she'd walk. I called her later to make sure she got home okay. You're girlfriend's fine."

I sigh and rub my forehead. "She's not my girlfriend. And don't start up with the whole Pokemon 2000 argument."

"You okay, Wallie? You really seem–"

"Do I look okay?" I burst out. "Where have you been this whole time? Someone just tried to murder me and suddenly I'm a little kid!"

The whole story comes tumbling out. We're home by the time I finish, but Artie doesn't make any motion to get out of the car.

"Hey, kid, what exactly did they say the drug was again?"

"An undetectable poison that was supposed to kill me. They decided to give it to me instead of shoot me, just to save time."

Artie says nothing for a moment, then he slowly turns to face me. "Do you think that's what shrunk you?"

I shrug. "I guess."

"It was supposed to kill you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then they don't know about you. They think you're dead. This is some kind of side effect. Wallie, you don't exist anymore."

"Huh. So you think they don't know I'm dead?"

"I'm not stupid. I just wish you'd said something else when you were trying to get me to believe you."

I'm taken aback by the cold note in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to–"

"I'm not going to be that way."

"Wh-what?"

"I'm not going to let this cost you your dream. I'm going to help you," he says, staring off into the snow.

"Th-thanks, Art–"

"But only on one condition."

"What?"

"Tell me what else is bothering you."

I admit, I left out the Potential Detective list from my explanation, but it was only to keep him from freaking out. I guess he can't be any more freaked out, though.

"They were saying something about a list. A Potential Detective list. They tried to kill me because I was on it, and they mentioned that your name was on it too."

Artie blinks and suddenly bursts out laughing. "That's all then? That's what was bothering you? Aw, come on Wallie, I've never solved anything in my life."

"Neither have I until this day. At least, anything real. I've proved that it's possible for me too. You can probably do it too."

"Well, that gives us somewhat of an advantage, doesn't it?"

"In what?"

"Figuring out what the hell they're up to."

I smirk. Oh yeah, that's my brother.

"Thanks." I feel myself tearing up a little. He's a really great bro–

"By the way, you sound like a mouse," Artie laughs and runs out of the car.

Scratch that last. I hate this guy.

_A/N: Yay, brotherly hate! His brother is really weird. You'll find this out next chapter. It'll kind of go back into the rut of similarity to CC, but I'll try and get it out as soon as possible. And for those of you who don't get the reference to Pokemon 2000, it's basically a fight between Misty and this other girl about whether or not Ash is her boyfriend, and the other girl gets her to say that he's a boy and he's a friend and all this other stuff, and yeah. Bye._

_-Autumnchronicles_


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